


a l m o s t

by dearg0d



Series: nine lives [5]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending tho, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, idk ??? its slow burn for them but not y'all lmao, kind of, no pennywise ?!, prequel !!!, slight slow burn except not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 15:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17789831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearg0d/pseuds/dearg0d
Summary: “I’ve never had any other choice, Bill.”“You’ve always had another choice." Bill was right.-The four times Stan Uris said no. And everything inbetween.-Prequel to Infamy - can be read as a standalone.





	a l m o s t

**Author's Note:**

> hello, so I said I posted infamy a very long time ago, and this has been in the works since the moment I clicked publish on that tale. It works as a stand-alone, and can be read in either order, though I feel reading infamy first is better for context and emotional torture? I really hope you enjoy this and I'm sorry it took so long to get out.

Bill Denbrough was eight years old when he learned of ‘homosexuality’ for the first time. He had written a love story about two boys, thinking it was absurd and creative because he had never seen two boys love each other like that before. His mother was mortified when he asked her to read it. It was that day he realised that society did not take kindly to such an idea, and he mentally vowed to never entertain it again. 

Bill Denbrough was eleven years old when he found out that queer people weren’t monsters or myths. It occurred to him that they could be the people that walked past him in the grocery store, or the people sat working nine-to-five jobs in worn out office blocks, or the kids that played and ran round in the school yard with him. Or his best friends. 

Bill Denbrough was fourteen years old when he realised he was one of them. It was something that he didn’t like to think about, but he found it a hard thought to push away. There was no way for him to stop the dirty visuals that clouded his dreams, or the soft desire he felt when he watched those dumb Rob Lowe films. The thoughts in his mind were out of his control, and Bill detested it. 

Stanley Uris was nine years old when he first got called a ‘faggot’ on the school yard. He didn’t know what the word meant, until his friend Richie gracefully informed him, and then did scandalous impressions of what ‘fags’ did to each other. The boy was mortified. 

Stanley Uris was thirteen years old when his mother started asking him about girls. She spoke softly, and with genuine interest. He had no answers to the questions she asked, and explained that he wasn’t interested, that he didn’t care. When his mother asked him why, he couldn’t find an answer for that.

Stanley Uris was fifteen years old when he realised his middle school tormentors had been right. Years of repressing his sexual desire and impulses had been pointless. He was the way he was, and there was no pretending otherwise. Stan was never all that good at pretending anyway. 

Bill Denbrough and Stanley Uris were sixteen years old when they embraced the thoughts they tried so hard to ignore.

It happened out of the blue, one August night in 1993. By then, Bill knew he had a crush on Stan. It was confusing, because although it solidified to him the idea that he was homosexual, he still found himself having similar feelings about girls. Sometimes, all he wanted to think about was how Stanley would feel against him or under him; other times, he found himself dreaming of what it would feel like to be between a woman’s thighs or pressing his head into her chest. At the time, none of that felt normal or okay. Bisexuality was not a word often used in Derry, and Bill had never heard of the fucking thing. 

For Stanley, all he ever thought about was Bill. It had always been that way too, but he lead himself to believe it was because he admired him so much - Bill was leader of the losers club after all. It was becoming clear though, that the admiration he felt went beyond platonic respect and envy. It was desire. 

Piecing it together took him far too long, but it was due to denial more so than general stupidity. When it all fell into place, Stanley wasn’t even angry about it. There were worse people to want to love, he supposed. And he assumed, naturally, that the crush would go away. It had to, he believed, because there wasn’t a hope in hell that it was mutual.

But Stan wasn’t in hell, there was hope. Rightful hope too, as the crush was very much mutual.

Neither one of them expected that to be the case.

It had started out as a normal day, the entire losers club had gone out to enjoy the warmth and each other’s company. When the sun began to go down, one by one the losers had returned home. Stan and Bill were the last. 

“I don’t really wanna go home yet,” Stan confessed. He was having too much fun, he and Bill always did though. They hung out more with each other than any of the other losers. If the rest of them were aware, they never called it into question. It was no different from Richie and Eddie forever going off together, or how Ben and Mike sometimes had days dedicated entirely to reading and discussing history, or how Stan sometimes went over to help Mike on the farm. 

It was normal, to any outsider.

And Bill assumed that Stan saw it that way too. And Stan assumed that Bill saw it that way too. There was nothing sexual or romantic about how Bill was forever playing with Stan’s hair, or how Stanley forever favoured sitting beside Bill, or how they often found themselves playing rough games of footsie under the table, or sharing private smiles when they made awkward eye contact. 

Only, there kind of was. 

Stan overthought it. He let himself wonder if the way Bill always lingered when they hugged meant something. He let himself dream that it did. 

Bill _under-thought_ it. He forced himself to believe that it was all him, and their was nothing but innocence behind Stan’s intimate actions. He thought that it was his own mind twisting it and sexualising and romanticising every aspect of their friendship, and continuously cursed himself for continuing to do so. So he chose not to think about it at all. 

For some reason, that day, he was finding it particularly hard. 

“Don’t go home yet,” Bill had replied, “We c-cuh-could have a sleepover.” At sixteen years old, they were kind of outgrowing sleepovers. And they had certainly outgrown Bill’s single bed. Stanley laughed out loud at the idea, as much as he liked it. 

“Sure Bill,” He said, “Let’s do face masks and give each other manicures while we’re at it.” Bill found himself laughing too. 

“You say it l-like you’re not gonna come over and make me play with your hair until you fall asleep.” That comment earned Bill a soft punch to the arm, but also left them both laughing harder. 

Stan did find himself going over to Bill’s that night. He didn’t really believe himself to be too old for any of that, he just didn’t want to seem too eager. None of the losers deemed themselves above sleepovers, as childish as the term made the concept seem, and regardless of what their parents thought of such arrangements. 

It had been a normal night by any standard, up until they got into bed. It was smaller than they thought when they both climbed in, and Stan immediately offered to crash on the floor or the couch, but Bill was quick to shut down that idea, insisting it was fine. It wasn’t fine. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Stan asked, shuffling closer to Bill in order to prevent his leg from slipping off the side of the bed. They were pressed together. It was making Stanley panic, worried he was going to weird Bill out or have an inappropriate reaction. It wasn’t fine. 

“Certain,” Bill insisted, surprising Stan by wrapping his arms around his lower back. Stan felt himself fall into the embrace, burying his head in the crook of Bill’s neck and throwing one leg over Bill’s, half on top of him. Bill didn’t seem to mind, not one bit. But it still wasn’t fine.

And why not? Because Stanley wanted this, he had dreamed of being held in such a way for far longer than he would’ve ever confessed, and there was nobody he had wanted to hold him more than Bill Denbrough. And Bill was fine with it too, deciding that the feeling of warmth and indescribable bliss it gave him was worth the inevitable shame later on. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last time. That much, Bill was certain of. 

But it still wasn’t fine. It wasn’t okay. None of it felt as perfect as it should, like there was an elephant in the room, an underlying tension just waiting to be addressed. Stan wasn’t even sure that Bill could sense it. He wasn’t sure about anything. And maybe that was why it was far from fine. He was simply waiting for the certainty to hit, waiting for it all to feel right and beautiful.

“Goodnight Bill,” Stan whispered, tightening his grip. He felt Bill twist a little under him, and the next thing he knew, Bill had rolled onto his side, Stan’s leg still thrown over his. They were face to face, drooping eyes staring into each others. 

“Goodnight, S-Stan,” Bill replied, voice soft. His arms were still resting in the small of Stan’s back, and they slowly moved up, though the rest of him remained still until his fingers halted on his friend’s neck. It was that moment he felt himself lean in, not even halfway when he was met by Stan.

They kissed. 

It wasn’t fine. It was much, _much_ more than fine. 

It was everything. And for the small amount of time that their lips fixed against each others, not a single bad thought crossed their minds. Nothing else mattered. 

If it was up to Bill, they would’ve stayed that way forever. He was a romantic, at heart, something he wore on his sleeve like a badge of honour. Stanley was a realist. He broke the kiss, ending it with a soft, quick peck to the corner of Bill’s mouth. There was a tear running down his cheek. 

“Goodnight Bill.” 

-

Nothing changed between them, except simultaneously everything did. Internally, there were countless differences, the main being that they were in love. And that came with it’s own box full of change. They kissed a lot, behind closed doors, and took any opportunity given to make some sort of physical contact. The way they looked at each other changed. The feeling they got when the other smiled became ten times more intense. 

But nothing changed. They were not boyfriends. They were not a couple. They were still just Bill and Stan, two best friends. They didn’t talk about how they couldn’t keep their lips off of each other every time they were alone. They didn’t talk about the life-altering feelings that they harboured for each other. They didn’t talk about the changes, which was why it was so easy for them to pretend there were none. 

Nobody had a fucking clue, which was the way they wanted it to be, and the way it remained for the duration of their romance. Bill came out as bisexual to the losers at seventeen, something that somehow surprised them all bar Stan, who had known for a long, long time. He didn’t make a fuss, none of them did. Stan considered coming out too, but he didn’t want to draw suspicion. Eddie and Richie had enough of that, he knew what the other losers thought to _that_ arrangement, and didn’t want the same speculation about his own friendship, even if any of it was true.

“Do you like anyone, Stan?” Eddie asked him one afternoon. They were alone, which had become a rarity in recent years. Especially for him and Eddie - who was usually always accompanied by Richie. He was meant to be there, but Eddie informed Stan that he was sick. The two of them were simply going for a walk. 

“What do you mean?” Stan replied, though he knew full well. “In what way?” 

“You know,” Eddie explained, “Like, _like._ Crushing, but maybe more than a crush. I don’t know, just anyone you want to be with?” 

Stan’s mind, and heart, instantly flashed to Bill. He imagined that - being with him - would be the most beautiful thing on Earth. So much so that it hurt, mostly because he had written it off as a possibility. 

“Maybe,” Stan shrugged, “I don’t know. Do you?” 

“I…” Eddie seemed hesitant, but then nodded, bowing his head low as if he was ashamed. “I really do. It’s fucked up, Stan.”

“Who?” He asked, though he hadn’t really needed to. They all suspected Eddie was queer, and they all suspected his infatuation with Richie was more than platonic. 

“Rich,” Eddie confessed, an unnecessary confirmation, “I know it’s wrong and fucked up-“

“It’s not,” Stan cut in, his voice insistent and certain. Eddie didn’t verbally response, but he smiled softly at Stan before continuing, a silent thanks for his understanding. 

“But I’ve never felt like this before,” Eddie said, “It _hurts._ I feel so much that it’s overwhelming. I don’t know how to just be friends with him anymore, Stan. I can’t see him as a friend. I want him. I want to be with him, but he isn’t even- I mean, _you know,_ homo. And that’s why it’s wrong and fucked up.” 

“How do you know that?” Stan asked, frowning. Eddie’s face flushed even more. “Just because Richie doesn’t seem gay, doesn’t mean that he isn’t.” 

“I kissed him,” Eddie explained, “We haven’t spoken since. He just…he freaked out. And then left. Just fuckin’…he just stormed out. I don’t know what to do, like, what if I’ve ruined everything?” 

“I…” Stan didn’t really know what to say to that, and this was painfully obvious. 

“Nevermind,” Eddie sighed. “I just-“

“No,” Stan cut in, “We can talk about it. I want to talk about it, because that’s…well, that’s a big deal. Have you tried talking to him?”

“I can’t,” Eddie scoffed, shaking his head at Stan. “I don’t really know what I’d say. I either confess my love or pretend it never happened. Both of those sound stupid and I…I don’t want to do either. I just thought he’d kiss me back, you know? I never planned for getting pushed away. You should do that, Stan, you should always plan for getting pushed away. Plan to be the one _doing_ the pushing away - that shit must be so much easier.”

Eddie didn’t really mean it, because they both knew that you couldn’t live life doing that. Stanley took it to heart though, regardless of Eddie’s intentions. He planned on pushing away, and he did push away.

That was where he went wrong, every time. Richie and Eddie didn’t play it like that, they were honest and brave and they wound up a couple at eighteen. Stan and Bill tried to hide their unrelenting envy, convincing themselves that wasn’t what they wanted (or at least, attempting to). 

But that was a lie, because it was everything that both of them wanted.

Bill Denbrough was eighteen years old when he realised that he was in love with Stanley Uris. They were bird watching, which was just about the _gayest_ thing Bill could think for them to do. He didn’t care because Stanley loved it, and he would’ve watched paint dry if that meant he could spend time with him. And that was how he knew, because he found himself doing anything and everything for Stan, and he found himself finding nothing but pleasure in that. In fact, he wanted to spend the rest of his fucking life doing that. 

Stanley was already aware of everything he felt, and made a conscious choice to pretend like it wasn’t real. He told himself that he was too young to be in love, and that it couldn’t be Bill. He ignored it. Bill didn’t want to.

“Do you eh-ever get juh-jealous of Richie and Eddie?” Bill asked him, late one night. They’d spent the day together, and Stan was crashing at his once again. It was their usual weekend arrangement if they weren’t doing anything with the other losers. 

“What?” Stan scoffed, “No. Why? Do you?” He knew where the conversation was going. And he was lying. Because his heart ached when he saw Richie and Eddie - and even Ben and Bev - happy and in love and being openly intimate. Jealousy seemed like a bitter way to phrase it though, because Stan wasn’t jealous. Stan was in _awe._

“I-I guess,” Bill confessed. He was glad they were in darkness, because he could feel the blush taking over his face. Stan simply sighed, his breath warm on Bill’s exposed chest. He had hoped that Stan would do more than just kiss him that night, but as usual, when things began to get heated they just stopped. “They’re s-s-so happy. I-I-I want that, Stan.” 

The confession caused a hot pull in Stan’s gut. So badly, he wanted to give the response that Bill wanted, tell him the raw truth about how he did too, how he could only imagine that with Bill. But no, those words did not form. They were pushed away. “You’ll have it, one day.” 

Bill felt like he’d been emotionally gutted. He doubted he ever would have it if that was Stan’s attitude, because Stan was the only person he wanted to experience that sort of happiness with. 

The silence told Stan that he had hurt Bill, and the guilt was quick to hit him. He made up for it the only way he knew how, and began pressing soft kisses to his neck. “Stop worrying about, Bill. We’re too young for that.” 

“One day,” Bill whispered, a prayer. 

“One day,” Stanley confirmed, pressing another kiss to Bill’s jaw. Bill held onto that, because it was the only thing that gave him hope. That, and the way Stan pressed himself into Bill like he wanted them to become one, like a lack of contact would kill him, like he truly did want to be with him. 

The subject was not dropped though. Bill didn’t want to drop it, because he was in love with Stan, and he needed that to be acknowledged. Even if it wasn’t reciprocated. 

There were countless incidents where Bill would try to get the words out only to be cut off completely. Sometimes, he’d be stammering his way through the ‘love’ and Stan would kiss him to shut him up. Other times, Stan would just change the topic, or excuse himself to the bathroom.

“Can we tah-talk?” Bill asked him, “Please?” 

“What about?” Stanley already knew. 

“I juh-just want to know where I stah-stand with you,” Bill said, hoping Stanley didn’t catch the vulnerability in his voice. 

“Oh,” Stan replied, ducking his head. He couldn’t make eye contact in that moment, but he could feel Bill’s burning into him. “Well, I mean, you’re my best friend, Bill, I don’t know what else you want me to say.” Only, he did. And he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Right,” Bill mumbled, knowing that if he spoke too loud Stan would hear the disappointment. “Best friends.” He dropped, opting to stare at the ground like his ‘best friend’ was. 

There was a silence after that, a heavy, uncomfortable energy. Stan was fiddling with the zip on his jacket, and Bill was picking at the edge of a nail, willing tears away. He had never had a best friend like Stanley before, and was certain he never would again, unless by some miracle Bill fell in love with his next best friend, but he doubted it. He didn’t want another, not ever. 

“Do you th-think we’ll stay f-f-friends?” Bill asked, “You know, when we g-go to college.” 

It was a concept he dreaded, mostly because he knew that all the other losers had different plans. Leaving Derry was something they all wanted, bar Mike, but Bill had always hoped that it would be a dream they fulfilled together. That wasn’t possible, they all wanted to go to different places - with or without each other. 

“Of course,” Stanley said, though he knew nothing would stay as it was. Things were going to change when he moved away, and his crushing realism forced him to acknowledge that. Part of him was excited for it, but another part of him dreaded the day. He wasn’t ready. “We can write and call. I’ll see you when we’re home for the holidays.” 

“Right.” Bill wanted to protest, point out that those things simply wouldn’t be enough. They couldn’t be enough. He wanted to be with Stan every minute of the day, and one letter a week, if that, would never even compare to what they had. How could they go from acting like lovers to old friends? Bill didn’t think it possible, not in such a small frame of time. He knew that going from seeing him almost every day to barely once a year would have a toll. 

That had been the end of the conversation. For Stan. Bill retold it to himself in his head, realised all the things he should have said. He vowed that he would, and he did - sort of. He attempted, at least. 

It was almost four months on, and college was nearing with every passing day. Their relationship had still failed to shift, but the fooling around was becoming more frequent, something that they both privately adored. It had never advanced to anything more than messy, enthusiastic kissing, no matter how much they both secretly wanted it to.

“I wish we could stay like this foh-forever,” Bill whispered into Stan’s chest. He thought it was the best time to bring it up when they were both content and sleepy - Stan would be less likely to be weird about it because he wouldn’t have the fight or be in the mindset. This was the perfect time, cuddled up late at night. They were wrapped up in each other entirely, so the romantic comment wasn’t out of order. 

“Mm,” Stan mumbled, shifting even closer, “I don’t know about that. You’re kind of sweaty, and your hips are digging in-“

“Stop ruining the moment,” Bill said, though they were both chuckling. Stan just pressed a kiss to the top of his hair, burying his head in and inhaling deeply as he did so. There was something comforting about having Bill so close, the smell and feel and the warmth. The love. “I muh-mean it.” 

“Forever is a long time, Bill.” Once again, shooting down the moment. Bill tried to push back the disappointment, knowing it was only a small blow, but it still hurt. He was trying to start the conversation, trying to find some way to tell him how he felt without really saying it. For someone so wonderful with words, Bill was finding it quite the fucking challenge. 

“I know,” Bill huffed, “And I know we doh-don’t have it. We don’t have long ah-at all, do we?” 

“Two months,” Stan said, “I’d take forever over that.” He’d have taken forever over anything, but he refused to drop the act, too afraid of…

Well, he didn’t quite know anymore. 

“What’s the plan when we’ve fuh-finished coh-college?” Bill asked, because that was one thing he had never really questioned. He had a vague idea, but none of the losers had ever really spoken about it. None of them really had a clue, they just figured that could be a bridge they crossed when they got there. Stan always had a plan though. Always.

“I don’t have one,” Stan replied, something Bill assumed was a white lie, “But my parents have a great one set up for me - get a wife, make a baby, raise it, retire and die.” 

“Well doesn’t that sound exhilarating,” Bill chuckled. Stan sighed, shaking his head. Bill adjusted again, shifting in Stan’s arms so that they were facing each other and laying his head on the pillow instead of the other boys bare chest. 

“Sure,” Stan scoffed, “Can’t wait to find a fucking wife. And stick my dick in her, because you know, that’s _definitely_ my idea of fun.” 

Bill was laughing. He hadn’t really expected to, but it felt nice. Stan was giggling along too, and the feeling of his stomach shaking against Bill’s gave him another wave of joy. “Oh, is it? Guess I’ll fuh-fuck off then-“

“Shut up,” Stan said, tightening his grip, “It’s probably not that bad, you know, girls are cute.” 

“I don’t think about them all that much,” Bill confessed. It felt safe to say with Stanley, but never with anyone else. His friends knew that he was bisexual, but he often worried that they would think he was lying about it, trying to cover for being completely gay. That wasn’t the case, but it was another one of his irrational fears. 

“Do you think you’ll marry one?” 

“No,” Bill said, because it was the truth. He didn’t imagine ever loving anyone the way he loved Stanley, and he couldn’t imagine marrying anybody that he didn’t love that much. And Bill knew that men couldn’t marry men. He didn’t let himself dream that would ever be possible, because the thought made his heart yearn for it. 

“Don’t you want to?” 

“Do you?” Bill scoffed. “Do you really wah-want what your parents want for you? Because you didn’t seem all th-that eh-ex-excited about it.” 

“I don’t know what I want, Bill,” Stanley said, and there was far more truth to it than he would have liked. Too much truth. “I’ll figure out when college is done. Fuck knows where I’ll end up.” 

“I’m going to mih-miss you,” Bill mumbled, burying his head in Stan’s neck to avoid seeing whatever look that statement would leave on his face. He felt Stanley tense, but his grasp around Bill only tightened. “I’m going to miss this.” 

“Me too,” Stanley whispered. The reply made Bill’s heart soften, and left him half speechless. He hadn’t really expected the conversation to get anywhere, it never usually did. Stan always found a way to shut things down before Bill ever got to say what he really wanted.

“I-I-I don’t know what I’m gonna do wi-without you.” It didn’t mean to sound as romantic as it did, because that was a statement that could have applied to any one of the losers, but it came out as that of something a lover would say to another. 

_“Oh.”_ Was really not the response Bill had hoped for, nor was it what Stanley truly wanted to say. 

Stanley never got to say what he truly wanted to say, and the topic was dropped. Bill wanted to give up hoping for anything more than quick necks and private cuddling. It never went beyond that, not in the two final months they spent in Derry. Somehow though, that shred of hope Bill had left stayed in place. It was more dangerous than he knew it possible. 

-

The final day came round quicker than Bill expected it to. They both knew it was their last night together, and both expected that it would conclude whatever it was they’d shared for so long. They expected it to be hard, they both knew it would be. They didn’t know they were going to break their own hearts. 

It wasn’t the final day for everybody. Bill had two weeks. Stan had three days. But it was Ben’s final day, and he was the first of the losers to be leaving for college. Beverly was devastated, as she had almost another month in her hell-home before leaving for Milwaukee. Next it would be Eddie and Stan, who were both attending NYU, then it would be Richie. Mike had decided to give college a miss, opting to stay in Derry. 

They were throwing one big goodbye party, to save repeating the same painful goodbyes six times or so over. It made more sense, and Bill had a free house for a couple of hours that night, so it made even more sense. 

The night had already been bittersweet - an unfamiliar mixture of grief and joy as they reminisced on the mess that had been their shared youths. Not a single loser had a dry eye, and they had attended expecting so. 

Everyone else had long since returned home, and nobody had noticed when Stanley made no effort to go himself. He was staying over, spending one last night in the comfort of Bill’s bed above his own. It was a lot less lonely, but somehow just as sad. 

“Three days,” Bill mumbled it like he wasn’t certain the words made sense. “Are you sure you cat-can’t come see me buh-before then?” 

“I wish,” Stan sighed, “But no, Bill. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Though it was far from it. Stanley was leaving for college in three days. Bill in fourteen. It seemed surreal, like it couldn’t quite be happening, only it was, and much, much sooner than either of them were ready for. “I’m juh-just gonna miss you.” 

“I’m gonna miss you too,” Stan said. There was no point dancing around it, Stan knew it. There was a time and place for his denial, his departure was neither. He owed Bill more than that, so much more. Bill knew the was telling the truth, the crack in his voice gave it away. 

“And I’ll miss this,” Bill whispered, wary, as if he knew he was saying something he shouldn’t. He didn’t need to explain what _‘this’_ was, though neither of them had a fitting title for it. Instead, Bill demonstrated, pressing his lips into Stan’s neck. Naturally, Stan melted into it, more so than he usually did, humming and digging his nails into Bill’s back. 

“So fucking much,” Stanley replied as Bill pulled off. He hadn’t left a mark, they never did, but he wanted to more than ever before. A surge of emotion hit when the contact was lost, and Stan felt his heart welling, pulling Bill back close. “You have no idea how much I love what we have.” The words felt like punches to Bill’s heart. He would’ve killed to hear them six months prior, but didn’t honestly believe he ever would. Maybe that was why he started crying at that moment. 

Or maybe it was the crippling realisation that he may never hear Stan speak so softly again.

Bill wanted to tell Stanley that he was in love with him. He knew better. Instead, he said, _“Don’t go to NYU.”_

“I have to,” Stanley sighed, though he would have been lying if he said he wasn’t considering it. They had applied to a few of the same colleges, but NYU was the place his parents urged him to go, and Bill had hated it in New York the time his family vacationed there. “It’s too late.”

“Transfer,” Bill pleaded, “You coh-could easy get in. We cah-can sh-share a doh-dorm ah-and-“ He stopped himself from speaking and the words became sobs. He had imagined that exact scenario too many times, telling Stanley to actually go through with it made the idea seem even more real. But it wasn’t - it _couldn't_ be - and maybe that was why the tears began. 

The image it planted in Stan’s mind caused him as much pain. It warmed him, to dream of a life in which he and Bill could live together like that, wake up in the same room and drift to sleep in the same bed. All the things they could finally do together, innocence and pretence abandoned in Derry. The amount of want - _need_ \- was overwhelming. 

“We can’t,” Stan whispered, “I want to, believe me, I do.” 

“So we can-“ Bill pressed another kiss to Stan’s neck, hoping that would sway him some. It did not, because it could not, but it definitely didn’t go unappreciated. 

“Don’t, Bill.” Stan felt himself welling up. The amount of hope, the amount of desperation that Bill had, was simply devastating. He knew, to some degree, that Bill felt quite a lot towards him, and he knew that leaving would not be painless - Bill had already expressed as much - but Stanley did not prepare himself for how awful it would be to watch Bill go through that pain.

“I need you,” Bill cried, “I-I-I can’t juh-just let you leave.” They kissed then, long and passionate. It was a kiss that said everything they wanted to say, a kiss that screamed their feelings with force and meaning. By the time Stanley could bare to pull his lips away, Bill was hard below him, legs tied around his waist and hands fastened to his hair. 

“Bill,” Stanley whimpered, realising only then that he had been crying the entire kiss. “We can’t.” 

“Transfer,” Bill repeated, the desperation still as strong. 

“I love NYU,” Stan lied. He loved Bill more, but that wasn’t something his brain was entirely willing to comprehend. “I can’t not go, Bill. I love it there and- I- I want to go. It’s not that I don’t want to stay close to you, trust me.” It sounded, and was, more like that Stan trying to convince himself of this than Bill. 

“I’ll t-t-transfer,” Bill suggested, clinging to Stan tighter, “I don’t care. I-I’ll transfer-“

“That’s a big deal,” Stanley cut in, voice more insistent than he intended. “And you hate New York.” 

“I don’t fuh-fucking care,” Bill said, and Stan knew he meant it. “I mean it, Stan. Say the word and I’ll come with you.” 

For a reason never understood, Stanley did not say the word that night. Instead, he said, “I can’t.” 

Bill didn’t know why. 

He left for NYU one week on, with Eddie by his side. Somehow, they kept in touch with the other losers. Mostly through well planned phone calls, or letters if they were feeling sentimental. Richie was forever taking trips down to New York, to see Eddie of course, but Stanley treasured the trips he would take over just as much. He saw Mike every time he returned home for the holidays, and sometimes Bev and Ben if they bothered with the trip back up. Bill never did. 

Stanley did not see him for three years. 

A lot changed in three years. 

Stanley more so than Bill. The biggest shock being the news of his girlfriend, Patty. Bill cried when he found out, private tears of an emotion he hoped had died in Derry. Then, he pulled himself together and told Stan he was happy for him, though the relationship remained a mystery to Bill, who knew better than to believe that Stanley really loved her. 

Stanley always claimed that he would never date during college. He always believed he would never date at all, knowing somewhere that he would never love a woman, but could never love a man. He made an exception for Patricia Blum, who he found endearing from the off. If he could have loved her, he knew he’d have happily spent his life by her side, but the more serious the relationship got, the more certain he was it could never truly work. 

It started all too quickly, Stan never thought it through. She kissed him at a party, a bold and spontaneous move. Stanley, touch starved and drunk, forced himself to kiss back. It hadn’t been a bad kiss, not bad at all, and Stan found himself almost disappointed when she eventually pulled away and told him that she _“shouldn’t do things like that”._ Stan assured her it was fine. They kissed again, and one week later he found himself on a date with her. Two months later, they were a couple. 

He knew he was gay by then, and Patty was smart, she figured it out too six months in. Six months too late.

It was a relationship of convenience for both parties. They got along well, for starters, and Stan felt comfortable around her for the most part. She understood his weird sense of humour and always respected his boundaries. His parents loved her too, but Stan always just assumed they were relieved he’d brought home a Jewish girl. Stan was convenient for Patty because he was the only guy on campus that hadn’t tried to fuck her, a blessing because she so desperately wanted to save herself for marriage. It wasn’t like she thought she was going to marry Stan, a part of her always knew better, but she hoped. 

Patty was attractive, beautiful even. Stan saw it too, and often cursed himself for not wanting to take her like that, most men did. But never Stan. They kissed, a lot, and Stan found he never really minded that too much. There was a sweetness to the intimacy, and she was always gentle where he was rough and passionate, as if he did want more. But he didn’t, and never pushed for it. Sometimes, she wished he would. And that was how she clocked him. 

So, Patty did want to save her virginity for marriage, and though that made people consider her a prude, she was insistent that she would only give herself like that to the man she gave her entire heart to. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t think about it. It didn’t mean that she didn’t touch herself and dream about how it would feel. It didn’t mean that she didn’t want other things. 

And Stanley had been extra touchy recently, without really realising. He was always physically affectionate, feeling as though he needed to be, like some form of weird compensation for not sleeping with her, for not loving her. Unnoticed by most, it drove Patty insane. 

That day, she had caved. She went over to his dorm knowing exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to touch him. Patty didn’t want full blown sex, no, just a taste of it. Anything would have been enough. So when she greeted him with a hot, open mouthed kissed, she was over the moon about how he melted into it - as if he wanted it too. 

Stanley was always very good at playing the part, but he had his limits. 

They had been kissing for maybe an hour when she began to take it too far. He had felt rather uncomfortable for the vast majority, sensing her eagerness, and trying to think of ways to make her stop. He half-assed the kiss, but his disinterest went unnoticed. He thought about protesting, he thought about it especially hard when she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. He thought about it again, when she took her shirt off and pressed his head in places he had never seen before. It wasn’t until she began to grind down on him, rubbing herself on his thigh, hand ghosting over his crotch, that he finally protested. He had his limits. 

“Patty-“ He grabbed her wrists, directing them away from his hips. “Patty, I-“

“Stan,” She had moaned, “I want this. I finally want this.” She had gone back in to kiss him, but never made it to his lips.

 _“I don’t.”_ It felt into place then, and suddenly small hints he had passed the entire duration of their relationship made sense to her. “I…I don’t think I’ll ever.” 

There was a silence then. She stood up, redressing herself with her back to him out of embarrassment, but there had been no need for that, Stan wasn’t judging her. Patty was used to boys wanting her, used to them pushing too far, and he understood why she had expected him to behave the same, despite him never displaying that kind of interest before. It was a mortifying blow to her self esteem. 

And a bit of a stab in the heart.

“I’m sorry,” Stanley had cried, and he had meant it. The break up came only a day later, with Patty rightfully making the final call. She never explicitly said that she knew of his real sexual identity, but she didn’t need to. They broke up that day, and he never saw her again. 

Surprisingly enough, he genuinely missed her at first. The friendship had been something of high value to him, and he went back to only having Eddie and a couple of guys in his lectures. Plus the other losers whenever he spoke to them. Stan told Eddie that he made the final call with Patty, told him that she bored him and they weren’t working out. 

When the news got back to Bill, he had almost pissed with joy. But that was unfair, because he had been trying to move on too. Failing, but trying. Also with women, and a great number of them. When Stanley discovered this after one of Richie’s visits, he felt a similar pain in his gut and heart to that Bill had felt. 

But what did he expect? Stanley knew that if he had wanted, Bill would have been his. They could have been together, could have had each other. And Stan was the one that rejected that idea. It killed him more every day. 

-

They were twenty one when they finally met again. A rainy evening in Derry at the grand reunion after the graduations. They were in a small bar, somewhere they had never managed to hang out in their youth. 

Bill had been at a loss for words when Stan walked in, strangely late and completely sober. Stan had changed, a lot more so than Bill. Three years worked wonders, and he had finally filled out more, and his features somehow seemed more defined, he was even sporting stubble at that time, and Bill thought the facial hair complemented his feminine features beautifully. Stan had been equally as shaken upon seeing Bill, but the only huge change was the length of his hair. 

Stan had put serious consideration into not showing up, hence the tardiness. He didn’t think he could face seeing Bill, but then he saw him, and he realised he had never needed something so badly in his life. It felt beautifully medicinal being around him again, inexplicably healing. 

They spent the entire night catching up, talking like old friends should. It looked normal to any outsider, too, the overpowering tension only visible to Bill and Stan, who barely took their eyes and hands off of each other the entire event. 

Bill told Stanley about the new editor he’d just met, and how he was almost certain this guy was going to help him get places, he told him of the apartment he was looking at in LA, and the new typewriter his Grandpa had bought him. Stan told Bill of the new job he’d just landed, and how many opportunities would come with it, and how excited he was to move away. A lot of other things came up, but the future was always the main focus. 

Slowly, and one by one, the losers began to leave. Bev and Ben first, awkwardly bidding their old friends a farewell before Ben drove them back to their hotel. Then Richie and Eddie, because Richie was too drunk and Eddie was concerned that they’d get the rest of them kicked out. Mike had only stayed another half hour after that, sensing that although his company was appreciated, it was not necessarily needed at that moment. He got a cab home. 

Another hour passed before Bill and Stan were asked to leave, the bar tender politely explaining that he needed to close up. Bill was somewhat drunk, Stanley was sober, but even to him there was something stupidly comical about being the last people left in the bar to them, about how much time had gotten away. When they got outside, it was raining. 

“Romantic atmosphere,” Bill commented. Stan had brushed the comment off, and Bill moved on. “I uh, I’m gonna call a cab back home, duh-do you want a ride?” 

“I drove,” Stan shrugged. Bill shrugged back at him, and Stanley smiled softly at him, shaking his head. 

“So did I,” Bill said, gesturing to the car that was parked up in the corner of the lot. It was one of three, and Bill knew which one belonged to Stanley, as Stan was glancing over to it. He felt a pang in his stomach, one more definite, one more painful, than any other he had felt that night. 

He wondered if this was going to be another three year long goodbye. He wondered if this one would be for longer. He wondered if he could cope with that again. 

He wondered if he could stop it. 

“You gonna pick it up in the morning?” Stanley asked, mostly just to prolong conversation. He didn’t want to say goodbye either. 

“I guess,” Bill said, though he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “I-I-I’m not staying too far from here. Motel, probably a half hour walk.” 

“I’m staying home,” Stanley explained, “It’s weird, being back. I’m going back to New York tomorrow though, work and stuff.” Bill would have been lying if he said that comment didn’t make his heart drop. He had optimistically hoped that he would have at least another day with Stan. 

“Long trip for one night.” Bill found himself stepping closer. Stan found himself stepping back, placing himself against the brick wall. The rain was still heavy, and the wet brick didn’t feel all that good, but it meant Bill crowded in closer, an action which they both understood the connotations of.

“Important trip,” Stan whispered it, and then, with a shaky voice, _“I missed you.”_

“I missed you,” Bill said, his voice somehow monotonous despite the melting pot of emotion inside of him. “I missed you every fuh-fuh-fucking day.” 

“We survived,” Stan pointed out, something at one time, he didn’t know would happen. Before leaving Derry, he could barely remember life without Bill. Life with Bill had been everything he had ever wanted. Somewhere, it still was. But now, life without Bill was his normal. It was his harsh reality, and Stanley was strangely accepting of that. 

“Barely,” Bill mumbled, closing in all the more. Stan initiated the touch, his fingers slowly entwining with Bill’s for the first time in three years. It felt right, like they were complete again. “Can’t believe you’re here again. You haven’t changed a bit.” He had, but Bill wasn’t talking about the way he looked.

“Somethings never do.” Stan wasn’t, either. And just like that, they were on each other. Bill initiated it, pressing against him so hard that Stan grunted as his head hit the brick wall. The brief pain was quickly forgotten though, lost entirely in the heat of the kiss. 

The dark parts of Bill’s mind wondered if it would be their last. And it would be, for another few years, at least. 

Stan knew that, even as he found himself getting deeper into it, moaning softly and running his fingers up Bill’s tee shirt. He knew that when Bill pressed against him, grinding hard. He knew that when they finally forced themselves back apart, and Bills lips fell beneath his ear. 

_“Come home with me,”_ Bill whispered, his voice pleading. It took every ounce of self control Stanley had to refuse. They kissed again, before Stanley had found a way to reject the offer, and this time with less urgency and lust. “Please.” 

_“Bill…”_ Stan let his voice trail off. He wanted to go, wanted to spend the night in Bill’s shitty motel bed, finally do the things they had been too scared to three years ago, have Bill’s body against his, have his hands on him, his mouth, his everything. Stanley knew that if he had consumed alcohol that night, as he had planned, they’d be stumbling back to that motel right then. 

Stanley was sober. He knew, in his logical and fully-functioning brain, that if he went back with Bill, he would _never_ leave him again. He knew that if he gave himself to Bill like that, he would be Bill’s forever, and he would never care about another thing again. Stanley knew he didn’t want that right then. He had built his own fucking home, and Bill was not welcome. Bill was the only thing that made him want to leave.

“Come with me,” Bill was almost sobbing, “Jesus- fuck, Stan, please. Come with me.” They kissed again, need returning. _“Wanna hold you like I used to-“_

The comment made Stan’s heart burn. There were no words in the English fucking language that could explain how badly he wanted that too. But Stanley found himself saying the exact words he had three years previous, crying as he did so, and forcing himself away from his love. _“I can’t.”_

And he couldn’t. Stanley had built a life for himself in New York. He didn’t want to throw that away, and knew that Bill was enough to make him reevaluate that. One weak act would only lead to another, Stan figured. One weak act would not ruin his life, he promised himself. 

Bill began to cry, cry like he had all those years ago when Stanley had left the first time. 

“Goodbye, Bill,” Stanley whispered it, as if the words were wrong. “Get home safe.” And with everything he had in him, Stanley walked away. Bill watched, tears rolling down his face, as his love drove away without even looking back. Somehow, he had half expected that ending. 

-

Something felt off when Stanley Uris returned to New York. He felt as though he was missing something, more so than ever before. He knew what it was, Stan was not stupid, he knew all too well. He wished that he didn’t as the truth was quite an inconvenience, but it was undeniable, mostly due to the fact he couldn’t stop thinking about that fucking kiss. The first in three years.

He knew it could be the last for a very long time. 

He knew that he couldn’t cope with that. But he also knew that he couldn’t let Bill back in like that. Couldn’t come out. Couldn’t fall in love. Couldn’t maintain a relationship. 

Stanley decided he didn’t have to do any of those things to get a pathetic repeat of that kiss. He didn’t have to do all that much at all, really. One trip down to his nearest gay bar was all it took. 

At first, this idea had not settled well with him. He had always _known_ it was an option, always wondered how he would fit into a culture like that, thrive in an environment that was so completely alien to him. Stanley had a million reasons to not go, but the desire and lust pushed him regardless. Eventually, one late Saturday evening he caved in on himself after one bottle of wine and one too many rom-coms. Stan called a cab and paid in for the first gay bar he saw. 

It was never going to be his scene. Stanley didn’t feel as out of place as he thought, but he never got much enjoyment from being in such chaotic environments, despite how frequently he visited after that night. Fitting in didn’t matter though, because he never went with the intention of understanding queer culture or finding like-minded people, Stanley only ever went for sex. And he rarely left without it - in fact, the only time was the first.

The night had been a disaster waiting to happen, really. He had arrived drunk and only gotten drunker. He had never been clubbing at all before, never mind alone, and the experience was quick to overwhelm him. 

“Are you okay?” The man who asked had been beautiful, a reminder of why Stanley had gone there in the first place. He was tall and slim with deep brown hair and a solid, square jaw yet soft features. There was a resemblance with somebody in him that Stanley refused to let himself place, though his conscience knew from the get go.

“I-I think so,” Stanley had replied, though he knew he was far from okay. His intoxicated mind wouldn’t let him stop thinking about Bill, about that fucking kiss and the fucking mess and how he missed his friends and how he hated the club and oh God, what would Patty think if she knew he were visiting such a place? 

He was often a melancholy drunk, but never quite that bad. 

“Let me buy you a drink.” That was how it usually started, Stanley soon discovered. Then they’d dance, not that he liked that part so much, and eventually kiss. They’d go to his apartment. They’d fuck, hard and fast and dirty. They’d leave, and if they were half-decent, maybe Stan would give them another call some time. 

The first time didn’t go quite like that. Nothing at all like that, actually, despite Stanley’s intentions. 

They made it to the forth step, back to his apartment. Stanley was drunk, maybe the drunkest he had ever been at the time - hoping it would calm his nerves, only it was doing more than just that. Alcohol was fucking with his mind more than he had anticipated, making him do things he would never normally. Making him want things that the sober part of him did not. 

He was on his counter top, held there by the heavy weight and hands of Discount Bill, who had at some point told Stan his name, but it slipped his memory after five minutes of dry and drunken conversation. He was being kissed too, though his own lips were responding much slower and his eyes were open, though his vision was blurred. Stan’s mind slipped deeper into thought, drunken, toxic thought. And lips were on his. A body was against his, rubbing. He knew he was supposed to feel something. 

After a short while of getting no response, the man in front of Stanley pulled away, hands slid up to cup his jaw and he pressed their foreheads together. Stan supposed it was supposed to be a romantic gesture, something to encourage intimacy. It did nothing for him, only pushed his mind further into panic mode. The man kissed him again, a quick, gentle peck, and then spoke. 

“You alright gorgeous?” He asked, something close to concerned. “You want me to slow down?” 

Stan didn’t respond, eyes blank even though they were staring back. 

The man spoke up again, voice gentle and reassuring - or at least attempting to be. “Hey? Talk to me. We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want.” 

“I do want,” Stan said, because he believed it to be the truth. “I-I-I can’t.” 

“Why not?” There was no disappointment in his tone, only concern, and for that Stan was grateful. “Everything alright?” 

“No,” Stan replied, because it was the truth. “Not at all. No-No-“

“Hey-“ The man gave him a gentle shake, then pulled him into a hug. Stan began to sob, and the humiliation hit him. He was supposed to have sex. He was supposed to forget everything else and- Obviously, that was never going to happen. Stan supposed he should have expected this to end in tears. “Do you want me to leave?” 

“I don’t know,” Stan whispered. To be fair, he didn’t. Uncertainty was everything for him in that moment. He went with his lesser instinct, and went back in for a kiss. The man, Discount Bill, let it happen for a only a minute, sensing something was still very, very wrong. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, growing uncertain himself. Stan nodded, then shook his head. He wondered if the tears were still there, wondered how off putting that was. “Hey? Stan?” 

“I’m fine-“ His voice cracked. He wasn’t fine, they both knew that much. “I jus- I just- You…”

The man stared at him, eyes bordering on hurt, yet gentle and understanding. He had a kind face, a pretty one. It was familiar too. 

“You’re not _Bill,”_ Stan whispered, knowing the man wouldn’t understand. He did though, to an extent. “You’re not him, you can’t- I can’t- It should be him-“

“Oh,” Discount Bill mumbled, “An ex thing. I get it.” Stanley shook his head. Bill was not his ex, but he didn’t voice this out loud, didn’t think it would matter all that much anyway. And it was too complex to explain. Stan didn’t want to talk about things he didn’t understand. “I uh, I should leave.” 

“You don’t have to,” Stan said, as hot tears dribbled down his face. The mans mind was already made up though. “I…I’m sorry.” 

He pressed a kiss to Stanley’s forehead, and left. But not without leaving his number on a piece of paper, hanging it on the pin board that sat next to the front door. 

When Stan came around the following morning, sober and humiliated, he called it. The man came around. They fucked, on the counter top, rough and hard. Stan cried after, whilst Discount Bill stroked his hair and tried to offer comfort, then he had left just as he had the night before. The two never crossed paths again, something Stan was forever grateful for. It wasn’t the most beautiful ‘first time’ stories, but Stan was just glad to have it over with. It changed the game for him, after that.

Stan began to do this sort of thing every weekend, but mostly with less crying.

Bill, at the other side of the country, was getting up to similar activities. He stuck to girls, even after coming out. Something in the back of his mind insisted that it couldn’t be anybody but Stan, at least, not the first time. 

There was a long time during which Bill believed he would never love anybody but Stan like that. No woman he fucked got his heart racing like that. After so long, he doubted anybody ever would.

He knew, from Stanley himself, that Stan was seeing people. It burned him up inside, the thought of anybody else having him like that, but he said nothing. He didn’t have the right. Bill didn’t even need to tell Stanley that he was sleeping around too, the media did that part for him. Stan didn’t seem to mind, and maybe that bothered Bill more than the fact Stanley was doing the same thing himself. 

They spoke, from time to time. Bill resisted the urge to invite Stanley over, fly out to New York himself, say everything he was still holding in from all those years ago. They even saw each other, a couple of times, but never how they both secretly hoped. It was always group gatherings, always with little opportunity to sneak off. 

Bill knew, somewhere, that he would always have an undying adoration for Stanley. Time and distance had done absolutely nothing to damage that. Bill was certain that nothing ever would. 

He was almost wrong.

Audra Philips walked into his life when he was twenty four. He met her on the set of the first ever adaptation of one of his novels. They fucked the first day they met, the day after that, then the day after that. Every day the week after that. 

After one month of knowing one another, they began a relationship. It was Bill’s first, Audra’s twenty-something. She was the kind of woman that could trigger silence upon walking into a room, the kind of woman that could flash a smile and have the world handed to her, the kind of woman capable of making Bill Denbrough, for the most part, forget his lifelong infatuation and love. And that was exactly what she did.

Bill found, within a mere month of having her around, that he didn’t really want anybody else. Maybe it was the sex, maybe it the returned and simple affection, or the way she looked on his arm when they went out in public, maybe there were a whole fucking books worth of reasons, Bill Denbrough thought he was in love with her. 

It was a different love to that he held for Stanley, and due to her being around, much more present and overwhelming. There was no lie, no pretence about how he felt about Audra, and it felt fucking amazing to him. It was a relief, a blessing. And maybe that was why they rushed into everything so much.

Audra insisted it was what she wanted too, though once the regret hit she realised that maybe she had simply gone along with Bill’s warped timeline, believing that what made him happy would work for her too. Oh, how wrong she was.

The proposal was a complicated matter. It came after one of Bill’s many mental breakdowns, and after hearing the news of Stanley’s boyfriend. Tom, or something. Bill had punched a wall, sobbed, and then fucked his girlfriend to remind himself exactly why that didn’t matter. He was very skilled at lying to himself. It was in the heat of all of that he decided that he wanted Audra forever. He never wanted to cry over Stanley Uris again. He did, of course, too many times to even accurately guess, but when he was down on one knee in front of his soon-to-be-wife, that didn’t even feel like a possibility.

Stanley had seen it coming. He knew that look in Bill’s eye, the one he passed at Audra in every picture published, a look that Stan had the _audacity_ to assume could only be for him. He had expected Bill to replace him, but it still hurt like nothing he had felt before.

The hope he’d had within, the one buried deep, deep down in the pits of his mind, finally dispersed. Hope that Stanley harboured about a future with Bill, the only hope he ever truly cared about, and the only one he had ever defied. Destroyed. 

He had the audacity to shed tears, when he had told Bill no. And that felt cruel of him. So he put on a brave face, kept his own boyfriend around to numb it all a little.

And Tom, much like Audra, was more than just a replacement or a substitute. Stanley cared about him, a decent amount. He didn’t _love_ him, but to be fair, he never claimed to. They were dating, going steady, enjoying each others company. When it ended, two months before the wedding, Stan knew it was due. He was sad, but not for long.

Tom had been the only other man to ever mean something romantically. Tom was different to other men Stan had been with, yet had a familiarity that Stan was dangerously drawn to. Auburn hair. Blue eyes. Tall. Slim. Oh, so fucking handsome. Funny, too. Wise and creative and-

 _“He’s like Bill, don’t you think?”_ Mike had whispered, upon being introduced to Tom. Stan had freaked out after hearing it out loud. It made him feel sick, afraid that the connection was obvious, afraid that Mike would piece the rest of it together.

“No,” Stanley had spat, “He’s nothing like Bill! He wouldn’t hurt- He isn’t a narcissistic asshole.” 

Mike seemed to brush it off. Stan never could.

He split with Tom before the bachelor party, an event Stan had dreaded since the wedding announcement. All the losers went, even Beverly, because fuck gender norms. Bill had begged her to attend. Of course, they weren’t the only people there. Bill invited some of his more upper class friends, and his younger brother, George.

The night was as tragic as Stanley expected it to be. It was spent between cocktail bars and a casino that half of them weren’t rich enough to enjoy. They all got drunk. Bill and his other friends snorted a fair amount of cocaine. Richie joined in, much to Eddie’s dismay. Stanley considered it, but he didn’t bother. Risk taking had never been his thing. 

He took a different sort of risk that night, without coke fuelling him to do so. Alcohol didn’t play a part, either. Stanley had known what he was going to do before he even got on the plane to LA, or at least teased the idea. He knew that it was an unlikely scenario, that he couldn’t even bank on the right circumstances occurring for him to even get a shot at playing it out. 

But it happened regardless.

The dominoes fell as fate intended them to: perfectly. 

They met up in the lounge of a hotel much too fancy for any of the losers, but they were dressed well enough to disguise that fact. It started with strong, expensive alcohol. Heavy drinking. Cocaine binging. These things did not settle well with some of Bill’s other friends. One of the famous friends of Bill’s, who’s name Stanley did not care to remember, could not handle the substances he consumed. He began to get angry and violent, which lead to him and three of Bill’s other friends being kicked out of the casino. They did not meet with Bill again that night.

As a result, Bill was in a bad mood. He drank more. Georgie got mad and went home early. He did not like seeing his older brother in such a state. Mike and Eddie insisted on following Georgie, just to make sure he got back alright, and probably due to how sober they were in comparison to everyone left. At that point, only the losers club remained, minus Mike and Eddie. 

Richie worked himself into a deeper state. He broke down, crying because he missed Eddie and got a cab back to the hotel. With just four of them left, Stanley realised his distant dream was now a possibility. Things only fell further into place as he and his friends continued drinking. 

Eventually, this got too much for Ben. He threw up as soon as they got back to Bill’s, and spent another half hour in the bathroom doing so until Bev eventually dragged him into a cab back to their hotel.

Bill and Stan were left in a heavy drunken silence, and it was everything he had wanted all night. Because they were finally alone. 

The conversation told them both where the night was heading, where it would end. Bill was too hammered to try and make his mind lie about it. It wasn’t that he thought he loved Stanley in that headspace, because he knew that he loved Audra. But it was different. He wanted to love Stanley again, or maybe wanted Stanley to love him again.

They made small talk for as long as they could, before finally facing up to the big topics. Bill asked about Tom. Stan asked about Audra. They were both as honest as they were willing to be about the situations. 

It was almost unbearable, the awkwardness. Stanley drank his way through it, until eventually, he didn’t feel it all that much. At some point, they were laughing again, how they used to a long time ago, and Bill was budging closer, and Stan became hyper aware of this. With every movement Bill made, Stan’s heart climbed further up his throat.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” Stan said, eventually, his voice threatening to break. He was met with silence, initially. 

And then Bill replied, _“I can’t believe it’s not to you.”_

And Stan wondered if the silence would have been easier to deal with. 

He knew that Bill probably only said that because his mind was distorted from all the drinking. He knew that it was a lie. He even knew that Bill was probably only saying it to trigger a reaction of some kind. There was no way he could mean something like that. No fucking way.

Stanley knew that - but what he knew didn’t really matter in that moment. Because he knew that his next move was wrong. He knew that he would regret caving in to such a toxic thought. He even knew that Bill would likely resent him for the gesture. But it really didn’t matter.

Stan kissed him anyway.

It was pure heat, passion and desperation. It could have probably been more, but after barely thirty seconds of contact Bill pulled away, teary-eyed. He didn’t shoot back, how Stan had expected him to, or even get angry, which was also a possibility Stan would have put money on; Bill simply held him, hands cupping his face and he pressed his forehead against his lovers.

“I can’t cheat on Audra,” Bill whispered, and Stan refrained from pointing out that sadly, he already had. Bill knew that already, but he didn’t want to make it worse. The guilt was going to eat away at him, it always did. When Stan did not respond, Bill continued to speak. He wasn’t thinking, using his stupidly big, messed up heart instead of his even more messed up head. “But say the word and I’ll leave her for you.”

It took everything inside of Stan to hold in that word, or rather, those three words.

But he managed it, as Bill had really known he would. Stan wasn’t going to cave, not even after that cruel, selfish move. As far as Bill was concerned, this was because Stan simply didn’t want him. He assumed, incorrectly, that Stan simply wanted Bill to love him without having to deal with everything else that came with it. He assumed that trying to fuck with his head, and remind him of who really had his heart. That one, awfully, was a little more true.

Stan didn’t realise that as his true intention though, maybe just a tiny, bitter underlying one. In reality, Stan couldn’t bring himself to say it for the same reason he could never before: fear.

Plus, he really didn’t want to be that person, he didn’t want home wreck, he didn’t want to hurt Audra. Walking away that night, to Stan, was not an act of selfishness, but an act of kindness. Bleeding so that Audra didn’t have to. _What a fucking hero he was._

Bill never really felt the same after that, and should’ve expected so, but Stanley hadn’t considered that in the thrill of it all. 

He left, ashamed and torn, then informed them all that he couldn’t attend the wedding, due to a work related incident, obviously. Bill had expected it, and was half-relieved. He tried to push back what he had done, but the guilt was impossible to ignore. It was loud and heavy and raw and it physically hurt him when he really thought about it. But not because he couldn’t live with the fact he had cheated, mostly just because he was so absolutely horrified with the fact that he wanted to do it again. 

Audra knew. She was smart and observant like that. Not enough so to figure out the small details, nor the true extent, but enough to piece together that something existed between the two men - something that had never truly been laid to rest. 

Audra knew, for a fact, that her guess had been correct when Bill caved into the guilt. He told her about the kiss, almost exactly as it had happened, but the weight of what he had done didn’t shift, not even when she thanked him for the honesty and wiped away the tears. She said it wouldn’t change anything, but they both had known this was a lie.

Whatever had been was not dead, and she shortly concluded that it never fucking would be, a fact that didn’t hurt as much as it probably should have. Not at first, at least. Maybe she had expected the blow, maybe she was simply numb to it, or maybe she just didn’t love Bill as much as she initially thought. 

It wasn’t the main reason she demanded a divorce after such a short run, but it definitely played a part, and the more their relationship crumbled, the more she clung onto what he had done, growing obsessive and increasingly angry about the event. This only triggered Bill’s rage more, and the toxic fights ensued and ensued. The deep-rooted issues remained ignored: their opposing stance on children, their clashing interests and frustrations with the small things. Audra found it much easier to write it all down to Stan, which was very understandable, though infuriating for Bill himself, who was doing everything in his power to try and forget Stanley even existed (it wasn’t working, not one bit).

The marriage lasted just over a year. Audra walked on one rainy-night after leaving the divorce papers on Bill’s desk. He hadn’t tried to argue or insist he still loved her, they both knew better and any fight they had left in them had died a fair few shouting matches ago. Enough was enough. 

Audra never looked back, and never regretted anything except not leaving sooner. 

Bill was sad, of course, because he had loved her, and because he missed having her around and a warm body beside him in bed. The loneliness was the worst part, especially since the Losers weren’t around to offer comfort - too busy with their own lives to give Bill’s failed love life much thought. He didn’t tell any of them of the split himself, leaving that to the tabloids and sleazy journalists that seemed to love narrating his every move. 

It could never have been a secret, but Bill did miss having those.

He missed a lot of things. His biggest secret, most of all: Stan - who had been surprisingly quiet during the whole ordeal. 

It had been Eddie who broke the news to Stan, on a phone call late one night. Stan hadn’t yet checked the papers, and so his shock was genuine when he gasped and dropped the telephone, shaking. The joy he felt was shameful, because it felt wrong to be celebrating something that people were hurting over, but it was a lot to repress. His hope restored, and he felt alive for the first time in a while. He was sad, too, and concerned about how Bill would be feeling about the situation. Somehow, Stanley hadn’t expected it.

He didn’t expect it one month later either, when Bill gave in to his yearning heart yet again, and text Stan, drunk and desperate. He used his way with words to sweet talk Stanley, who had barely missed one day of work in his entire career, into calling in sick and flying out to see him. A flight which Bill insisted he would pay for. For once, Stan found himself unable to refuse Bill, unable to refuse _himself._

Within a matter of hours, Stan had turned up on Bill’s doorstep, flustered and grinning with a small bag in hand. And Bill had greeted him with a kiss, because of course, and they didn't exchange a single word until Stan was in a state of indecent undress mumbling into his neck.

"Touch me." 

They fucked, for the first time in their lives, as badly as lust-driven, inexperienced teenagers, and Bill had last all of five minutes, but Stan was still certain that it was something close to the best night of his life. He had woken up beside Bill, and nothing had ever felt so right, as if everything had finally fallen into place. It could never have been that easy though, because he had work, and a life, and he couldn’t just up and leave any of that.

“I have to go,” Stan had insisted, though the truth behind that was very disputable. “I promise that I’ll come and see you soon, yeah?” 

In fairness, he did, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Not even when Bill moved across the country so that they could be closer, or when they were meeting on an almost weekly basis, or when Stan took several days off of work just to spend in between his sheets. 

Nothing felt like enough. 

Stan was almost used to breaking his own heart at that point, and it hadn’t occurred to him that he was breaking Bill’s at the same time. They didn’t get sentimental like that, not in the presence of the other.

But Stan still cried every time he drove back to his apartment, and Bill still drew blood biting his lip to hold in those three words. They felt forbidden, and maybe that added to the excitement, but not enough to justify the agony that came with holding them in. It seemed silly, too, because the feelings were obvious even if unspoken. There didn’t need to be any denial, but Stan was too stubborn to see that. 

And scared, but that part was a little more shameful. 

The lines were blurred too, because they were not together, officially. Stan still fucked other people whenever Bill went away for longer than two weeks - mostly because he assumed Bill would be doing the same - and Bill still pretended like he was (he couldn’t, he fucking couldn’t). And they both pretended like that was okay, like that was healthy or normal, ignoring the burning jealously as they ignored everything else they felt, or at least _pretended_ to. 

But they coped, and they did this because they loved each other. 

Stan did it because he had rejected his own needs for too long. Stan did it because it made him truly happy, and made him feel loved. And Stan Uris wasn’t much of a romantic, but somewhere, deep down, he knew it was where they were supposed to be. Together.

And Bill, the most intense romantic that Stan had ever met, felt that too. He felt like a teenager, like they had forever, like they were free. Most importantly, Bill felt complete - or as close to that as he had ever been.

And it wasn’t everything, it wasn’t the best case scenario, or what either of them truly wanted. But it was enough. And it fuelled hope for change, something that they had both lost once upon a time.

“I don’t really wanna go home yet,” Stan would confess, crawling out of the sheets. 

“Don’t go home yet,” Bill would plead, pulling him back in. He was home, but that was left unsaid, like so much else that was communicated in more creative ways than words. _(But it wasn’t enough, it was never)._ And Stan would always eventually crawl back out and drive back into what was a much more miserable reality, the life he had fought so hard and sacrificed so much for. And every single time he would question whether it was worth going back to _(it wasn’t),_ and Bill would wonder why he couldn’t be enough _(he was)._

And there they remained, and imagined they would forever remain: in a toxic, torturous purgatory. 

_For five more years, at least._

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is adored, thanks for reading!


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